


razor's edge (even deeper we fall)

by Stargirltakingflight



Series: easy as breathing [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Choking, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Happy Ending, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Porn With Plot, Possessive Harry Potter, Possessive Tom Riddle, Professor Harry, Setting Boundaries, Student Tom Riddle, Switching, Teacher Harry, Teacher-Student Relationship, Timeline What Timeline, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargirltakingflight/pseuds/Stargirltakingflight
Summary: He can't stop staring at her in class.That's the problem, really.And he sees the way she looks at him.He's a student, not stupid.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: easy as breathing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074461
Comments: 12
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my very first smut fic! Ive been working on this baby for a few weeks on and off, and finally finished it. It'll have 3 chapters and will be posted weekly, if I remember to keep my schedule. (Fingers crossed!)
> 
> Many thanks go out to the lovely [SleepingPatterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingPatterns/pseuds/SleepingPatterns) who helped beta the first chapter and was very supportive of my first foray into smut writing. Thanks a bunch!
> 
> Also—after JKR's appealing and recurring statements regarding trans people I feel the need to clarify that I in no way agree with her views and that I support trans people. Trans rights are human rights. If you disagree with that, then kindly fuck off.

If there was one person at this godforsaken magic school that was worthy of his respect, it was Professor Potter. She stood in front of the blackboard, animatedly explaining the theory behind unicorn hair being sewn into wand holsters, and he could not stop looking at her. 

Those red, bouncy curls ended just above the faint outline of her breasts, visible under her dark green open robes—her green eyed glare, piercing each student with the promise of retribution if they didn’t pay full attention to her. Defense with Professor Potter was probably the one class where shenanigans were kept to a bare minimum. She just had that effect on you.

Rumor had it that she’d been a student at Hogwarts herself some years back. Tom could vaguely remember seeing her in the corridors in Gryffindor robes when he was younger. Considering that it was her first year of teaching, it truly was a miracle that she’d charmed all of Hogwarts already—even the other teachers. Everyone was half in love with her, and Tom would be lying if he didn’t agree with them, whenever he heard their whispered words about the young professor.

Sitting in his 7th year DADA class, he couldn’t help but watch the light refract off of those dark red curls, the way her mouth glistened when she wet her lips and said his name—what?

“Stay after class, Mr. Riddle, if you cannot find it in you to stay focused during my lesson.” And with that she gave him the slightest disappointed shake of the head.

“Now, who here can tell me the singular ministry approved use of unicorn blood? And don’t you dare let me catch you thinking about any other illegal uses, or detention will be the least of your worries, understood?” She brandished her wand in their stunned faces.

Yes, there was a reason she was equally feared and respected among students.

* * *

The last student had just filed out of the classroom, free to enjoy the remaining sunlight after the last class of the day. Tom wished he could leave with them, even if it meant subjecting himself to senseless chatter and petty drama.

He was mechanically putting away his things when he noticed that Professor Potter was staring at him with that unreadable expression of hers. Contemplative, almost.

“Tell me, Mr. Riddle, do you make a habit of not paying attention in class?”

He couldn’t identify her tone, as she leaned against her desk in a way that made her legs seem even longer. She regarded him with that intensity that had cowed so many before, one hand coiling a strand of hair around her finger. He watched, mesmerized for a second.

“No, Professor, I do not. I apologise, it won’t happen again. I was merely…” and he paused, “distracted.”

“I see, Mr. Riddle,” she nodded, thoughtfully, “but you do know that such missteps need to be...punished.” There was something in her voice—he was sure, now, that he wasn’t imagining it—that was almost seductive. But, surely not. He was a student and she was the brightest professor Hogwarts had seen in a long time, even at such a young age. He didn’t dare dream...and yet.

He swallowed hard, aware of the hungry look that must be clouding his eyes now.

“You are, of course, free to punish me however you shall see fit, Professor.” He replied, wishing at once to get this game of predator and prey over with, and delighting with the thrill it gave him.

She looked at him, searching. His mind barely registered that her stare hadn’t left him since the other students left the room, not even once. He felt…flattered.

“Very well, Mr. Riddle. Please come to my office at seven tonight, and we shall discuss this further. Go on, run off now, surely your friends will be waiting for you.”

She motioned with her hand, the dismissal clear and direct, and yet her eyes didn’t leave his, even as her entire body broadcast boredom. She was acting, he knew. And he had never wanted her more. For now though, he would leave and think about how to spin this delicious game she had presented him with. Finally, something besides the endless monotony of school work and the idiots that surrounded him at all times. Finally, something worthwhile.

* * *

Harry was freaking out. She didn't let it show, not as she cleaned up the room with a nonverbal wave of her wand, watched the chairs right themselves and rubbish float to the fireplace, not even as she closed the door to her private quarters. At no point did her face show any of the turbulent emotions threatening to boil over.

Merlin, how could she have been so stupid. She knew—by the gods did she ever know—what a horrendously stupid idea it had been to ask him to stay behind after class. She hadn’t said anything yet, nothing that could be misconstrued in their short conversation, even if the conclusion had skirted that edge like a razor. Her heart was beating like a caged animal. Sitting down at her desk, she slumped, reaching up to unclasp her robe and opening the first few buttons of her blouse. She hated being so proper all the time, but she’d worked too hard on her reputation to let it be destroyed by something as ridiculous as improper attire. 

She let out a groan. The Hogwarts dress code was not her real problem. Despite her behavior in the classroom, she felt helpless. If only she could come to terms with what her body told her in low whispers, and what her mind had been screaming since this fascination began. 

Harry knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. He’d fascinated her from the moment he first sat in her class. The way those dark blue eyes lit up when they held lively discussions on the legality of dark magic and Unforgivables had been seared into her brain and Merlin be damned, he was her best student. A damn joy to teach. But that wasn't all, was it? 

No. A professor was allowed to have a favourite, to mentor someone, to make sure they left Hogwarts with the best education possible. And she did her best to ensure that, to prepare all her students for their life. Harry was sure that Tom Riddle would be great. Only, she wasn’t sure that he would also be good. 

Which was a problem, his questionable morality only part of the bigger issue, though. Through no fault of her own, she had developed an ill-advised, irrational crush on him. And though teachers could offer additional tutoring, they definitely shouldn't think about fucking their student's brains out. Granted, she wasn’t much older than he was, which was the only thing keeping her from going to one of the other professors right away. Small mercies.

She'd seen the way he looked at her in class and in the corridors, followed her every move and expression, as though cataloguing each one for later perusal. She knew he thought he was being sneaky. To anyone else, he was.

She knew though, could read him like a book, for better or worse. Despite everything—the way his eyes lit up when speaking about horrible curses, the detached air with which he regarded his classmates, despite all the reasons that told her not to—she wanted him. 

And Morgana help her, maybe today she’d have him. Her skin tingled with anticipation as she finished her grading for the evening, waiting for him to arrive. 

* * *

There was a knock on the door at seven sharp. Never let it be said that Tom Riddle was anything other than punctual. As she opened the door, she left all of her conflicted thoughts aside, focusing only on the moment and the magic inherent in it. He was leaning against the doorframe in his Hogwarts robe, with its Slytherin insignia embroidered over his heart, though he seemed to be wearing casual clothes underneath.

“Come in, Mr. Riddle.” She motioned him inside, closing the door behind him. 

“Why don't we talk over a cup of tea?” He nodded, the air heavy with anticipation and something sweet, cloying around them like Yule had come early. They could both feel it, and the swiftness of their steps spoke volumes. She led him to her private quarters, and they sat at the small table situated in the corner of the room. With a lazy wave of her wand, the kettle filled with water, boiled, and poured them two cups. They floated over to their table, along with her various blends of tea. If he was surprised by her nonverbal magic, he didn't let on. She didn’t use it much in class, but still somehow the entire school seemed to know that she was a powerful witch. She suspected Dumbledore, the old gossip. 

Riddle cleared his throat, apparently nonplussed by the scalding hot tea. Or he was just a really good actor. She doubted it, though, as he hadn't been able to fool her yet, where everyone else already seemed to eat up his charm.

“Professor, I—“ he stopped and looked at her, the desire in his eyes warring with uncertainty, and she couldn't help but smile.

“Yes, Mr. Riddle? Do speak up,” She felt like a temptress, watching his eyes stray downward to the open buttons of her blouse, calculating and fully aware she was looking at him still.

But she would not be the one to elevate their game to the next level. The strange attraction between them could not be denied, but though they might not hold up in court, she had her own set of morals. She wouldn't touch him until she was completely sure of his intentions. And he hadn’t said anything yet.

So she sat, letting him rake his eyes across her body as she watched, sipped her tea and smiled. His eyes eventually flashed back up and focused on her own with an intensity that made her blood boil and left her panties wet.

He rose, rounded the table and stood before her. Looking down on her, he spoke:

“Professor, if you’ll have me—“ he grinned, licking his lips, “here I am.”

She barely had a chance to process how much that did to her before his mouth was on hers. He pulled her up and pushed her against the wall with his kiss. 

The kiss was like a living thing—thrashing in its frenzy as they fought for dominance. They fanatically grasped at fabric, hair, shoulders— anywhere, if only it'd bring them closer.

His hands trailed over her locks and down her cheek as hers clutched at his neck, their kiss a song of ebb and flow and Merlin, it felt like coming home. 

They stayed that way, her back against the wall and his knee between her thighs, kissing. His hands strayed to her hips and he lifted her slightly. Her arms found their way around his shoulders and she realized with a start that he was quite strong beneath his robes.

She interrupted their kiss, gasping, "Stop—need, hah, clothes off." She grabbed him, dragging him over to the bed and unbuttoning her blouse as fast as she could. Everything was a blur after that. They were touching, hands trailing everywhere, over the tattoos on her upper arm, all across her back. His lips on her hot skin as he pleasured her with his fingers, her mouth on his cock as she looked up at him through her lashes. He curled his hand deeper into her hair, moving her head with the assured confidence of someone who knew they were entitled to the act. He grabbed her and turned her around on the bed. His strength made her weak from how much it turned her on. 

They used contraception charms and when they finally got around to fucking, she was laying in the middle of the bed, naked and sweaty as he straddled her, still looking at her with that same intensity, as though he were a parched man in the desert drinking her in to quench his thirst. He pushed in, slowly, at first, a tiny moan escaping him at the friction. Harry shuddered, the sound evoking something primal in her. She growled, grabbing his hips and forcing him to move faster, deeper as she began moaning herself. 

He snaked his hand slowly upwards, over her breasts and to her throat. He didn’t restrict her breathing in any way, but the reminder that he could choke her any moment was what truly sent her over the edge. He pushed in once more, deep, and flexed his hand around her throat oh so slightly. She was screaming, her body wracked with tremors as she came down from the high of her orgasm. Tom continued pumping into her at high speed, burying himself to the hilt as he came with a low moan that almost made her wish she could go again.

His hand stayed on her throat, it’s presence grounding her as she slowly came back to reality. 

Tomorrow, she would panic and think about the consequences of her actions. Today she muttered a wandless scourgify, curled closer into Tom's arms and closed her eyes, resting deeply in their shared afterglow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave Kudos and a comment—what do you think about Harry's inner monologue? Should she have given in to her desire? 
> 
> We'll get a look into her thoughts regarding that next chapter but let me know what you think!
> 
> If you would like to talk to me about writing, HP, Tomarry, or ramble about headcanons, why not head on over to my tumblr @[stargirltakingflight](https://stargirltakingflight.tumblr.com/) and shoot me a message? I promise that I’d love to hear from you.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning after left her feeling two kinds of empty. First, of course, in the physical sense, as her body remembered flexing around his cock and being filled deeper than ever before. But also emotionally. She couldn’t go back to how things had been before, that much was clear, even as Tom murmured sweet nothings into her nape from behind. His warm breath ghosted over her skin and she could feel her hairs stand up.

Mind running a mile a minute, she turned. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Mmh, how could I not, after a night like that?” And he grinned at her, lasciviously like a cat in the sun and utterly unrepentant.

“I am going to shower. And when I'm back, we'll talk.” She tried to look stern, but failed.

* * *

Standing under the warm stream of water was a welcome relief. Kneading her muscles and relishing in habitual hygiene of it kept her hands busy while Harry thought about her peculiar situation. How could she have let it come to this? Guilt hit her like the Hogwarts express at full speed as she realised the full implications of her actions last night. No matter her reasons, she had crossed every line ever drawn between student and professor and good as coerced a student into sexual activities. It didn't matter that he’d enthusiastically consented, not with him being a student under her tutelage. 

Merlin, it was enough to make her sick. She’d been able to rationalise her thoughts last night, so overcome with want and excitement at the sight of him. Damn her, but the sex truly had been great. A shame that she could never ever repeat it. 

Thank the gods above that at least he wasn't a minor, too. That was a line she had no desire to cross. She turned off the water and grabbed the towel from the rack, drying off in quick motions and wrapping herself in the fluffy bathrobe hanging by the door. Her heartbeat accelerated as she steeled herself for what would, no doubt, be a difficult conversation. She opened the door.

There he was, dark curled hair lit by the morning sun, eyes hooded as he gazed upon her with a want she recognised from last night, a small smile playing around his lips.

“I did not expect you to be the type for bathrobes, professor,” he said, grinning as she sat next to him.

“I rather expect you don't know much about me, Tom.”

“That could be remedied, professor. Say, some remedial lessons? I've been a very naughty student, as you know.” He fixed her with his doe eyes. She felt her resolve crumbling beneath his gaze. Damn him and his soft voice. 

“Tom—Mr. Riddle. I must apologise for my conduct last night. What I did—what we did was not right and I failed in my duties as a teacher when I did nothing to stop you from acting on your desire. Although I am flattered, I must ask you to cease any further actions that are not in the realm of normal interactions between a student and a professor.”

His eyebrow had risen higher and higher during her little speech. Clearly, he had expected something else, and Harry was right beside him, she’d much rather have had mind bending shower sex than setting a boundary she knew in her heart she didn’t even want. But she wanted to be sacked even less, so the choice was a clear one. She adored being a professor, and not even Tom Riddle was going to come between her and her dream job. 

Even if she'd forgotten that last night, sometime between being kissed and choked to orgasm. Merlin, it had felt good.

“Please tell me you're joking, professor.” His voice had taken on an incredulous tone. “You should know I would never tell a soul, and clearly we both wanted this, I don't see what the problem is—”

“The problem is that I am your teacher, Mr. Riddle, and I am not going to lose my job because of you!” By the end she was almost shouting, and Tom looked like he'd been punched.

She sighed, “Mr. Ri—Tom, I like you, you're a great student and an even better lover, but I cannot have a relationship with a student while I am a teacher in these halls. I won't deny my attraction to you, as I'm sure you are aware of it. But I cannot, in good conscience, engage in these acts while you are still a student here. I won't have it.” There was a flicker of hope in his eyes then, quickly doused by determination.

“I see. Thank you for explaining, Professor. I will wait, then.” And from the steely glint in his eyes, she knew at once that he would. That knowledge would not make it easier to get through the remaining months of the school year. Quite the opposite, really.

“But before I go, as far as I see it, this still counts for last night.” Before she could do anything but stare, he lunged at her, grabbed her head with his big hands and dragged her in for a kiss. It didn't hold the same desire as the ones from last night, but in some ways it was even more desperate. He moved against her all solid, grounding force, herself like a boat at sea looking for an anchor. His hands a steady warmth against her scalp and his tongue trying to memorise the shape of her mouth. It was at once a reminder of what she would give up and a goodbye, at least for some months. 

Then, once satisfied, he pulled away, eyes lingering on her dazed expression and slightly parted lips as he stood and began looking for the rest of his clothes.

He dressed quietly and quickly, while she processed what had happened. Then he walked to the door, smiled at her and said, “Thank you, Professor, for last night. I hope you’ll wait for me, too.” 

And faster than she could blink, he was gone. Harry was left alone, but for her guilt and excitement, and her entire world had tilted on its axis once more.

* * *

Breakfast that morning was the closest she had ever come to torture, Harry thought. She felt his eyes on her from the moment she entered the great hall. They followed her path to the head table and stayed with her the entire meal. Harry desperately hoped no one could sense the guilt rolling off her in waves, and if they did, that no one asked her about it.

His stare made her skittish, like a deer caught in headlights, and coupled with her conflicting feelings she left breakfast quickly after a light meal. All the same, she could feel his eyes on her.

* * *

Defense was hell. He had agreed to keep his hands to himself, but his eyes, they followed her every move. It was a bigger distraction than she'd expected it to be.

The entire lesson, one about proper wandcare and ways of defending against theft or disarming, she felt off kilter. Her mind still occupied with the previous night. Again, like cruel mockery of her last class, she made him stay behind. Their positions unchanged, him at his desk and her, leaning against hers in a mockery of relaxation. This time however, it was not with an ulterior motive but rather an admonition, an unresolved fury settling in her stomach, there beneath her ribs.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” she began when they were, at last, alone. “What exactly did you not understand when I said that this cannot go on? Cease your incessant watching lest I remind you with detention who holds the power in this situation. You will act, even if you do not feel it, as though I am simply one more professor accompanying you on your way to graduation. What comes after, I will gladly discuss when the time comes. But until then, stop watching me like you are still undressing me with your eyes, you hormone addled teenager!”

Harry had watched him during her speech, had seen him turn affronted, chagrined, hopeful then resigned in quick succession and concluded that he must have gotten her message. That was, until he began to speak, that cheshire grin curling around his lips.

“Oh, professor, pardon me for remedying the offense you last gave me detention for. I was just,” and here he paused, “being a most attentive student.” Again, she felt his eyes roam over her body, clad in a white blouse with a moderately plunging neckline, tucked into tight leather pants while her green robe lay carelessly strewn over her chair. Her hairs stood up under the force of his gaze and it took her a second to snap out of it. 

“Very well. That does not excuse your behaviour at breakfast, but if you promise to behave,” a meaningful glance at him, down to his crotch, “then I promise to reward you once the year is over.” And she pierced him with a smoldering look, full of promise.

Tom straightened imperceptibly, grey eyes clear and resolute, as he nodded once and made to leave the room. 

“Oh, and Tom? Remember that I'll know if you entertain any notions of, say, camaraderie with your female classmates, if you know what I mean. You best save that for adulthood, if you’re still interested in your reward.”

* * *

Despite her words and his promise, it remained a constant battle to forget the way he had moved so beautifully against her, the way his hand had felt against her throat, how fully he had filled her.

His eyes still tracked her when she roamed the school, though he had gotten considerably better at hiding it during the following months. More than once, she had to resist the temptation of grabbing his arm and dragging him to the closest broom cabinet. And Merlin, if that, of all things, didn't make her feel guilty. 

Once, he had left her a letter, proclaiming how much he'd missed her and would wait centuries for her, if only she would let him into her heart. Admittedly, it was sweet, romantic even. No doubt he’d been drunk when he’d written it, else there would have never been splotches of ink on the parchment, as well as a spill that smelt suspiciously like firewhiskey. She burned it, of course. But not before committing the elegant, slanted scrawl she knew from his essays to her memory.

Harry tried to remain unaffected in class, to not treat him any differently, and for the most part, she succeeded. They hadn't drawn any stars from students or professors alike, thank Merlin, and she hadn't had to assign him detention once. But in truth, it was doing terrible things to her self control, to see him sitting there, in front of her, calm and collected while she remembered every instance and late night when she'd made herself come to the memory of his hand on her throat, around her thigh or on her breast. Weaker women would have called it torture.

In a way, it was almost like the longest, most drawn-out kind of foreplay she'd ever engaged in. She was impatient, could feel it thrumming beneath her skin, the heavy fire of anticipation, but she knew release would be all the sweeter for it.

So really, it was quite a surprise when graduation dawned in only a few days and the rest of the year had already passed them by. The closer the event got, the harder it was to resist, to blink away his heavy gaze when his eyes found hers, lips wetting and hands steepled in a mimicry of calmness. 

Those days were closest to torture, she found, the entire castly giddy with the impending freedom of the seventh years and the two of them, engaged in a whirlwind of their making, drawing ever closer to the eye of the storm, to its phenomenal culmination.

* * *

Graduation was a heavy affair. As always, Minerva was speaking, praising the students for their dedication, ther growth and even their mischief, in certain cases, as they stood proudly behind her, heads held high in their graduation robes, soon to be handed the certificate proclaiming them officially grown up. Harry spared some glances for the students she had taught, smiled wide in pride of the work they'd put in and the reward they were now to reap. But soon enough, her eyes zeroed in on Tom, who had been scanning the crowd.

He recognized her, lighting up and straightening, suddenly awash with pride, for her, she realised. Harry had been aware that he was an orphan, had no remaining family left to applaud him, but it still warmed her heart that his smile seemed to grow imperceptibly wider when he saw her clapping for him as he was handed his certificate, along with a trophy for his outstanding scores. Highest marks in the country indeed.

One focused glance at the door later, he nodded and turned his attention back to Minerva. Harry’s message had been understood. 

Graduation festivities had always been a fairly elaborate concept at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which meant that sneaking away right after was nigh impossible and not recommended. There were people to meet, congratulations to receive and pictures to be taken, after all. Harry meandered around the room, congratulating her own students, speaking to parents, greeting old classmates and catching up with friends. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom speaking to the Minister himself, standing next to Head Auror Dawlish with that unassuming arrogance of his, one that didn't seem excessive but rather marked him as a competent young wizard excited to jumpstart his career. She had to hide the fond smile that crept up unbidden and cast yet another tempus. It was almost time to leave. The festivities would drag on, but the mandatory part was nearing its end. Harry couldn't wait.

Once Tom turned away from the Minister and Head Auror, she locked eyes with him, nodding once before striding towards the doors. She didn't need to look back to know he was saying goodbye to his classmates.

* * *

Tom found her waiting just outside the wards, head tilted impatiently and eyes mirroring the desire and need he was sure would be found in his own. Her dress clung to her figure like a second skin and he wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds.

One hand extended, her rings glittering in the afternoon sun, he grabbed her and in a whirl of colour they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave Kudos and a comment—do you agree with Harry's decision to wait until graduation? Does it really matter in the large scheme of things?
> 
> The next chapter will be the epilogue and we'll have a look at how their post-graduation celebrations play out, but for now—let me know what you think!
> 
> Want to talk to me about writing, HP, Tomarry or ramble about headcanons? Head on over to my tumblr @[stargirltakingflight](https://stargirltakingflight.tumblr.com/) and shoot me a message! I promise that I’d love to hear from you.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for joining me on this ride, it's been great to share this story with you.

Harry’s flat in Diagon Alley, off to the side of the main street, was a cozy thing, with two armchairs around a small fireplace, warm colours on the walls and well worn furniture. Wooden floors sprawled out from under the fuzzy rugs in front of the fire and a lamp on the ceiling added to the afternoon light streaming in from the windows. It was the home she had always longed for, as a child, and Tom Riddle didn't notice any of it.

He had grabbed her at once, pressed himself against her body, the slightest gasp leaving him as he stared at her face. For a beat, neither of them moved. Then, as though the spell had been broken, they were kissing, remedying months of want and need as their bodies moved against each other in tandem.

His hands roamed about her dress, counting heartbeats and cataloguing the damning curve of her back. His mouth, oh Merlin his mouth, how she had missed it. 

“Tom—” she gasped as his hand curled around her nape, pressing insistently. “Hah, let's—bed, now,” Harry said as she steered them through the open door to her bedroom, falling down onto the mattress, entangled within his arms.

“Oh, Harry, how long have I waited to finally—” he stopped, breathing hard. “Fuck, you're beautiful. I want you so much.” He looked at her like she was a goddess, like he had never seen anything like her, and it stoked the fire inside of her that had been lit that fateful night months ago. She moaned.

“Then take me, Tom Riddle. Show me what it means to be made undone.” At her words, his face lit up, excitement and devotion clear as day as he slowly made to undress her, like a carefully wrapped present.

Somehow, Harry thought, she'd never been fucked like this before. Even now, as he had barely unclasped the delicate buttons of her dress and made to slide it off her figure, nothing else compared. Sure, she was young, but she'd had her own share of experience and she couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault. He made something inside of her twist and clench in hunger, like a piece of her returning only when he was close. She lost herself to his ministrations, hands warm and ever so gentle. She never wanted to let him go again. 

By the time she was naked and conscious again, he was shrugging off his own clothes, throwing them carelessly to the side. Caught in their own cosmos, nothing mattered except the heat of his skin when he touched her. She felt like a firework five seconds from going off. A growl escaped her unwilling mouth and she dragged him closer until he was straddling her once again, just like he had been that night all those months ago. 

“Fuck, Tom, I missed you so much.” 

“Ah, Harry—me too. Want to be—need to be inside you, now. Please,” he begged and that, more than anything else, set the space between her thighs aflame with want. He was begging, wanted her so much that he had resorted to pleading. The rush of power made her bold and she flipped them around until she had reversed their positions and began trailing her hands up and down his body, circling, but not once touching his cock. 

“Oh, you’ve been so good to me, huh darling?” Her fingernails were scraping along his abdomen and found purchase in his thigh, grabbing him tight.

“Wouldn’t you say you deserved a reward for all that torture I put the both of us through?” 

Tom had been rendered speechless by her reversal for a moment, but now his gaze sharpened and his mouth opened slightly, eyebrow cocked as if daring her to fulfill her promise. He looked expectant, as though he was clearly owed whatever she would give him.

“Well then,” she grinned, “I suppose I shouldn't be dallying.” She lowered her lips to his cock with catlike elegance. It was the least she could do, after barring him from any sort of companionship during his last months at school. 

Tom let out a moan, her soft mouth on his cock as she took it deep into herself again and again, bringing him to the edge rather quickly. He made to stop her, wishing to last longer, now that they had all the time in the world, but Harry grinned and set to work even harder. She twisted her tongue and started humming around his member and before Tom could so much as warn her, he was coming. He looked down at her wide eyes, her blissful face as he spent himself fully into her mouth, panting and gasping for air. 

Harry withdrew, once he was done, and licked her lips. “My, Mr. Riddle, I didn't know you had it in you! Defiling a young and innocent woman such as myself, how could you?” 

Laying on her bed, chest heaving, he reached out with his right hand and tweaked her nipple, grinning as he said, “As though you could play at being innocent if you’d been hit by an imperio. C’mere, now. I’m exhausted.” 

He reached for the blanket behind him as Harry muttered a wandless scourgify, and wrapped his arm around her, settling in for an afternoon nap. There would be time enough, later, to discuss their relationship and when they could be open about it, as well as the dark magic she knew he practiced and yet had not cornered him about. Yes, there would be many a discussion to be had in the future.

But for now, she was happy, laying next to Tom, a warm weight pressed against her body as he drew simple patterns on her arm. They had jumped off that precipice together, and it had been as easy as breathing. Being with Tom felt right, like teaching did, or casting spells. His breath against her ear, she smiled and burrowed closer into his arms. Blissful and content, she dozed off in the warm afternoon sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please do leave Kudos and a comment—did you like the ending? 
> 
> I know its rather short and I apologise for that, but it felt right to end it here.  
> However, I think there's still a lot to discover in this little world I've built and I wouldn't be opposed to returning to it in the future. I already have ideas about their daily lives together and Tom Riddle as an aspiring politician—subscribe to this series if you'd like to be updated when I get around to writing those stories!
> 
> If you want to talk to me about writing, HP, Tomarry, or ramble about headcanons, head on over to my tumblr @[stargirltakingflight](https://stargirltakingflight.tumblr.com/) and shoot me a message! I’d love to hear from you.


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